


Danse avec moi, ma chere

by xDomino009x



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Drinking, F/F, Femslash, One Shot, Politics, Secret Relationship, Slow Dancing, mercymaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 08:02:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7352734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xDomino009x/pseuds/xDomino009x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been tough sneaking around with Amelie when it's just the other Overwatch agents she needs to worry about, but at a gathering of all the important members of the UN it should be nearly impossible to get a moment alone with her. But nearly impossible isn't the worst odds Angela's dealt with</p>
            </blockquote>





	Danse avec moi, ma chere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mVincentJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mVincentJ/gifts).



> This was inspired by a picture on Mira Ongchua's Tumblr, go check out their blog if you have the time.  
> Me and mVincentJ came up with the idea for the story (then I added the Mercymaker), so if you like the idea go check out their fics and maybe you'll find something you like.  
> And a special thanks to Saphean for being my beta reader - check out her fics if you want Mass Effect or Dragon Age.
> 
> Other than that please enjoy, and expect more Mercymaker from me in the future :3

Angela had been watching them dance for at least half an hour, broken up by small talk with foreign officials and their families. Everyone here knew who she was; everyone was keen to hear about the daring adventures of the Overwatch agent, Mercy, flying from one injured soldier to the next like a guardian angel. They all saw her as some paragon of virtue, but they didn't know the first thing about Angela Zeigler - the woman outside the Valkyrie suit. They knew nothing of her fondness for sweet rosé and milk chocolates, or how her shelves were filled with sappy romance novels slotted between the many medical journals. She wasn't even sure how many of her comrades from Overwatch knew her _that_ well.

Down on the dance floor she could just make out the expressions of the two dancers that held her avid attention. Lena, for her part, looked as clumsy as ever, tripping over her own feet and stepping on the hem of her partner's long black dress. Each time she did Amélie gave her a disgruntled look as she tried her best to recover her poise.

They knew at least half the notice in the room was fixed, consciously or not, on her. The assassin, the murderess; a Talon agent walking freely within their halls, enjoying their wine and their music. If she didn't have the protection of Overwatch… Angela didn't even want to think about what would happen if the politicians decided their word wasn't enough anymore.

She searched hastily around the room for a minute, trying to locate her 'date’ for this evening. Reinhardt would be around somewhere, most likely relishing in the admiration of his adoring public and playing the part of the hero. It was a part he played well, even if he wasn't as young as he had once been. The hair he styled so carefully had gradually turned grey over the years since Overwatch had been shut down and resurrected, but his drinking habits had stayed the same nonetheless. The man could probably drink all evening and not feel it, at least until the morning when Angela would find him in her sickbay, wondering why his head hurt so badly.

When she found him it was indeed at the drinks table, with three glasses of wine held awkwardly between his hands. Amused, she walked briskly over to him, setting a serious expression on her face. “I really hope those aren't _all_ for you, Reinhardt?” She indicated the drinks with one hand as he tried to offer her one, “You'll expect me to deal with you in the morning.” Her displeasure was only on the surface, and he knew her well enough recognise it right away. His hearty chuckle brought the smile back to her lips as took the glass from him, careful not to knock the other two. Red wine. She looked past him, towards the glasses of rosé on the table, but didn't want to appear rude. She took a tiny sip and forced herself not to screw her nose up at the bitter, dry taste. Reinhardt laughed again. He was a man fond of laughter and Angela appreciated it.

There was far too little joy in the world.

“So, should we go dance like them two?” he asked, directing her attention back towards Lena and Amélie with a nod of his head. The two agents had begun twirling to the fast tune the musicians had just struck stuck up. He was beaming as he watched Lena comically trying to keep up with Amélie’s swift movements. Their dance wasn't even half as graceful as it could have been. Instead of replying the doctor merely walked away and motioned for him to follow. She didn’t much fancy standing there, looking wistfully at the twirling men and women down on the dance floor. It wasn’t as though she had the time to engage in such fanciful entertainments, or so she’d keep telling herself.

She managed to lead them towards two German speaking ambassadors, the German and Swiss representatives, who she’d singled out as her next distraction. The two had been deep in conversation, but turned to her gladly when they saw the Overwatch heroes approaching. Angela greeted them before Reinhardt, clasping their hands as she thanked them for being here and made it clear how delighted she was to see them again, even though she couldn't be sure she really meant a word of it. After her, the knight clapped the German ambassador on the back like an old friend and introduced himself loudly to the man from Switzerland, who he was almost certain he’d never met before. Both of them looked somewhat uncomfortable at his informality. Angela grinned - she reckoned they hadn't been prepped for this.

“Ambassador Jäger, I don't believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting in person?” she queried. She had of course dealt with him on numerous occasions, but over live video feeds or voice channels. The German man cocked his head in thought for a second or two then shook his head slowly. “Nein. I don't believe we have. Unless… maybe at the Sommerball last year?” he enquired, uncertainly. Angela’s face lit up as she nodded, smiling genuinely at him. The Summer Ball had been one of the best last year. She’d been forced to work through this years, a great disappointment at the time but by all accounts she hadn't missed much.

Lena maintained the opinion that it was the best so far, but with it being held in London of course she would say so. She vaguely recalled seeing his face at an event somewhere before, may as well have been there she supposed.

 

Lena joined them at this moment, listening intently to the excited conversation happening around her in German. She didn't even try to participate. It wasn't that she couldn't get by in Germany or German speaking cities when she was there, quite the opposite - she’d gotten lost and separated one time and found her way to the German headquarters perfectly well by herself - but she didn't know enough of the language to include herself in the talk of diplomatic events without making a fool of herself. Not that she was very thrilled at the idea of discussing past meetings with these politicians when she wasn't even that happy to be at this one. Reinhardt took pity on her and offered her one of the glasses he was still carrying, downing the other himself while Lena sipped carefully.

“You’re not entertaining Widowmaker anymore then, eh girl?” Lena looked back to the marble dance floor, where Amélie was waltzing with the next unlucky man to take her place. It hadn't been her choice to join the woman in the first place, she’d been grabbed and dragged to the floor and Amélie had convinced her it would make a better impression for both of them if they at least looked like they were enjoying themselves. Lena hated to admit it but she was probably right. She _really_ hated to admit it.

“Nah, too much spinning. Worried this old thing would act up again.” She patted the chronal accelerator draped over her tuxedo like it was her battle armour. She didn't begrudge it, but maybe sometimes she wished it could be just a tiny bit smaller. It had earned her more than a few sideways glances this evening, and she was sure there would be more to come yet. Everyone seemed so interested in the girl who got thrown out of time, like it was so great to blink in and out of the timeline. She thought it was, of course, but that wasn't the point.

She glanced back to the dance floor again as a new song began, where Amélie had another new victim, the last apparently having enough of being in close proximity to her. She was cold, inside and out, and made no attempt to hide it. Lena saw Angela cast sideways looks down towards the dancers and wondered if she was keeping an eye on their Talon ‘friend’. It would be wise to make sure she didn't cause trouble, but how much harm could she do here unarmed and unarmoured with a few dozen security in the room.

There was probably a gun trained on her back the entire evening, maybe all their backs. That thought made Lena shiver.

Reinhardt placed a hand on her shoulder gently, for him anyway although it still made her knees buckle slightly under the force, and gave her a curious look. “You cold?” he asked her. Standing in a smart shirt, black tuxedo and a correctly tied bow - after many failed attempts - Lena wasn’t actually cold. The room was pleasantly warm and after dancing for so long, even if her partner’s skin had been cool, she was even warmer. But her hurried denials didn’t stop Reinhardt removing his jacket, with some difficulty as he swapped his drink from hand to hand, and draping it over her shoulders. “Cheers love,” she muttered pulling it around her shoulders with her free hand. It was far too long.

Instead of waiting for Angela to stop monopolizing the time of the two politicians, Lena and Reinhardt left to wander the hall themselves, watching the dancers and sipping their drinks as they went. It was odd, Lena thought, how little she had seen the ex-soldier since being back with Overwatch. Almost ten years ago, before the organisation had been disbanded they’d seen each other on a regular basis, gone for drinks after a successful mission with the others; Jack, Angela sometimes if she was free, Gérade until his death. They’d mourned fallen comrades together. It had been good and bad but their friendship had been strong. Now it seemed like so much had changed and they hadn't had a moment to catch their breath - it was hard to work out what to say to each other next.

“So…” Lena tried, taking a long drink from her glass and draining it, giving herself time to think before she continued, “Angela said you've got some girl tailing ya now. That right, love?” Reinhardt chuckled, a low rumble that came from deep in his chest, and his face softened as he thought of the spritely girl who had taken to following him around. She’d become something of a sidekick now, although she wasn’t permitted to head into Overwatch business with him. Maybe one day.

“You mean Brigitte? Yeah, she’s been good to me, helped me out of trouble more than once.” Looking for another glass of wine, Lena hummed her acknowledgement, darting away and returning in an instant with a full glass of white wine. “You sweet on ‘er?” She nudged him in the ribs teasingly.

At that Reinhardt threw his head back in raucous laughter that echoed around the hall and caught more than a few people’s attention. Over where they’d left her Lena saw Angela stifle a giggle of her own, shaking her head and slipping away while the politicians were distracted. Looked like she’d had enough of them for now. Lena looked back to Reinhardt who had almost finished laughing at what she now supposed was a ridiculous question. “No, she’s just a comrade. I suppose she’s my squire,” he replied with a wink. Rolling her eyes at his obsession with knights, Lena sipped some of the white wine and instantly regretted picking it over the red.

 

Angela listened to Reinhardt laughing as she left the room, glad he and Lena were using this time as a chance to talk. They’d been fast friends before the explosion of the Swiss headquarters, that had taken the lives of so many and had driven many members of Overwatch apart. It was good to know they could pick up the pieces, even if she knew they had not kept in touch with each other as much as she had with both of them.

She retreated to a small side wing, looking out the floor to ceiling windows at the snow-capped peaks of the Swiss alps and the meadow dotted with wildflowers. She heard the click of heels before she heard the voice that called her name.

“You’re not enjoying the party?” The slow drawl asked her, marking Amélie’s approach. The woman came to stand beside her and gazed out the window as well. Looking over Angela saw her breast rising and falling with deep breaths, laboured from the time spent dancing constantly to avoid any suspicions. The doctor didn't reply to her question, just stood and stared at her for a long while. Her cheeks were tinged a slightly purplish colour and Angela began to grow concerned.

“Amélie, you look… flushed,” she muttered, looking back out towards their dimly lit surroundings, illuminated only by the lights from inside the building and the moonlight that filtered through the clouds. It was a beautiful view, and standing against it Amélie was just as beautiful. Angela hadn’t looked properly at her dress until now, too distracted by her movements and her hair tied up and draped over her shoulder. It was backless, figure hugging until it reached her thighs where it began to float around her legs, the back longer than the front. The black material, something like silk or satin she couldn't say which, was a stark contrast to her own dress. It had been fashioned for her to resemble her Valkyrie suit, made to impress the politicians here at the ball tonight. The white velvet covered her shoulders and finished just above her knees.

Amélie watched her with amber eyes, like a predator waiting for her prey to move into the perfect position. The way she watched her enemies through the scope of her rifle, the way she had once looked at Mercy with her finger on the trigger. “I have been dancing a long while. It was…” She cut off, her voice dying with her breaths. Angela gave her a worried look, moving closer and placing two fingers just under her jaw. Faint as always and slower than it ever should have been, Amélie’s pulse faltered beneath cold skin. “You’re having trouble catching your breath again?”

“This is a party, oui? Not a medical check-up.” Amélie was avoiding the question, which gave Angela her answer even if the assassin didn't want to give it. She had been doing this job for over a decade, and she was used to both the psychology of her patients as well as their physiology. She was still unsure what she even knew about the anatomy of the woman her friend had been turned into. Widowmaker was not the same person Angela had known years ago. The doctor sighed and shook her head. “No, it isn't. I  just worry”

“About me?”

The question hung in their air for a long moment while Angela toyed with different answers in her mind. Yes was obvious and on the tip of her tongue but it wasn't what she wanted to say. What she needed to say was, “I care about you, Amélie. Of course I worry about you too.” At that she found a hand over hers, holding it more firmly against the cold, soft skin of the assassin’s neck. She could feel that pulse ever so gently beating against her fingertips. Amélie’s other hand came to rest on her waist and pulled her closer.

“Danse avec moi, ma chére.” The French rolled of her tongue like smoke, all promises and seduction and danger.

And Angela stepped towards her without thinking as Amélie stepped back, letting herself follow the lead her partner set to the slow melody drifting through the open door to the main hall. Looking up to eyes that adamantly avoided hers, Angela thought again how she was beautiful. Her pale skin was tinted blue from lack of oxygen but that didn't change how beauty clung to her curves, how it snagged in her ebony hair. “We shouldn't, Amélie,” Angela stated even as she drew closer still to her dance partner, “If someone sees-”

“Let them,” Amélie hissed in her ear, pulling Angela's body flush against her own. Angela could feel the smile on Amélie’s lips as she kissed her temple, then her cheek, then just below her jaw. Over her fluttering pulse that beat fast enough for both of them. “Just dance with me a while.” Angela consented, holding Amélie close and swaying with her, spinning slowly on the spot. Amélie took the hand from her neck and laced their fingers together, holding their hands between their bodies and starting to guide Angela in a steady waltz, keeping a firm grip on her waist. It almost hurt, but Angela did not mind. She focused on the blue skin beneath her hands, the cold that made the tips of her fingers tingle. Widowmaker was cold, but she didn't mind that either.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you liked it, feel free to leave feedback. It's all appreciated :)
> 
> Translations  
> Nein - no  
> Oui - yes  
> Danse avec moi, me chere - Dance with me, my dear


End file.
